A friend 8/2009

A friend
is not
a threat or
curse
a bullet or
a rose

A friend
is not
a prophet or shrink
a psychic
who just knows

A friend
is not
a tearful smile
a hand or
a mouth

A friend
is not
a promise or
oath
a secret you found out

A net
a warmth
a steel pole
that runs through your core
from head to toe
suspended between the earth and sky
a friend doesn't end
she keeps you alive

Spowlil (at 12)

Eternal pillows
Floating Freely
The feathers slip out
and fly away
Eac feather a soul
Being lost on its way
I am one of those
I falsely believe
We are none of those
I comprehend sheepishly
The feathers are flying souls
that have reached their destiny
Flying souls
that have been set free

Motorcycle Meditation 8/2009

It's a motorcycle meditation
on a still and pleasant day
the way the engine growls and stirs
my head responds in foreign ways

I've seen you on this street before
slouching by with head in hands
didn't anyone tell you
not just anyone can understand?

There's a breeze now in the park
it carries a message from me to you
just as your hair starts to stir
you feel the meaning seeping through

I spelled it out with cheerios
and left it on your table
you say that faith will bring us closer
but I don't believe I'm able

Nature and I (at 12)

I speak to the stars
And laugh with the sky
I dine with the planets
People wonder why
I express my feelings to the moon
And turn my back on the sun
People wonder why
I explain that it's fun
I listen to the soil
And embrace the trees
People wonder why
I am friends with the seas
I lunch with the flowers
And brunch with the clouds
I have special powers
People wonder why
I console the dust
and reminisce with the sky
I cry with myself
No one wonders why

Daddy 5-7-98 (at 15)

I pushed my hand inside my mouth
wondering what would come out
you threw me up against a wall
said I'd no respect at all

The Story of Me (at 12)

Me
a question
an answer
a being
living and
loving
hoping
wishing

Me
a word
a definition
a meaning
wondering and
wandering
questioning
realizing

Me
a life
a death
a span
passing and
asking
leaving
regretting

Me
a book
a movie
a novel
pages and
cages
in my life

Golden Doors

Just got back from visiting my family in California... saw my dad for the first time since he left the hospital. He's moving very slowly, but he's walking with a walker and able to maintain a conversation just fine. He still has his sense of humor and remembers everything perfectly clearly, so I'm grateful for that. He said that when he was in the hospital, he remembered a room with golden doors and they were calling him from behind the doors, saying it was his turn. He refused to go in the room. He was curious to find out what was behind the doors, but at the same time he didn't want to know. I'm glad I was able to visit with my dad and hear about his fascinating near death experience. I told him I thought he was still here for a reason, and he agreed. He said he was thinking about going to AA meetings, which would be great because he's basically a dry drunk right now.

I retrieved more of my books of poems and journal entries from home, so I think my collection here in New York is now complete. I have more writings to share from my experiences growing up in an alcoholic home now and will be posting some in the coming weeks.